


In His Hands

by sweetcarolanne



Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Consensual Underage Sex, Cults, First Time, Hand & Finger Kink, Implied Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Manipulation, Monsters, Not Extreme Underage, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rough Sex, Size Difference, folk horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:47:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25351873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetcarolanne/pseuds/sweetcarolanne
Summary: Fleeing his abusive home, young Cory stumbles into the clutches of a notorious backwoods cult, and falls under the spell of its charismatic leader, Waylon Creed - who may or may not be a literal monster...
Relationships: Backwoods Cult Leader/Runaway Teenage Boy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46
Collections: Multifandom Horror Exchange (2020)





	In His Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plastics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plastics/gifts).



> Although Cory would be of the legal age of consent in my country, he may be considered underage in other places, so I have tagged the story as Underage according to the rules of AO3.
> 
> Many thanks to my anonymous beta.

As the lights of the gas station came in sight, Cory began to breathe a little easier. He shifted his backpack so that the weight was a bit more even, and fished in his pockets for coins to buy a can of soda, more in an attempt to look nonchalant while asking for directions than to slake his thirst.

Cory hoped that someone who could give him a ride to the next town would come along soon, and then he could buy a bus ticket to the city where his dad and stepmom lived. It wasn’t the best place in the world to be staying, but it sure beat the hell-hole he’d just left. Cory’s skin crawled at the memory of the previous night, and the sickening grin on his stepfather’s face as he had lunged for Cory. 

His bruised shoulder began to ache all over again, and he struggled not to throw up where he stood as he silently prayed that he hadn’t woken his mom and stepdad from their drunken stupor when he’d hurriedly packed a few things and sneaked out the door.

He didn’t even wait and call his dad to let him know he was coming; last time he’d tried that he’d been overheard and got one hell of a beating from his stepdad. His mom had phoned his dad and convinced him Cory was just stirring shit, and Cory had ended up stuck in the house he would never call his home.

Cory paid for the soda and went outside, thinking about how great it would be to see his two little half-sisters again. And he supposed he’d even be able to tolerate his stepmom’s raving on about the love of Jesus for a while, at least until he was old enough to get a proper job and find a place of his own.

The drink was cold but sickly-sweet, and Cory grimaced at the first sip. He was about to dump the can and reach for his water bottle instead when he saw a lime green pickup truck pulling up to the gas station, its unsilenced engine painfully loud in the stillness of the night.

His stepfather’s truck.

“I’m fucking dead,” Cory whispered, and he turned and ran.

His heart was pounding as he fled, not even paying attention to where he was going. He headed for the woods, hoping like hell his stepdad hadn’t spotted him.

Massive trees loomed overhead, obscuring the moonlight as Cory crashed in blind panic through thick brush; thorny branches tore at his clothes and hair, but he still kept going, sheer adrenalin pushing him onward. He didn’t stop to catch his breath until he reached a small clearing in the midst of towering tree-trunks. Collapsing on the ground with an ungainly thump, he shrugged off his backpack and rested against it, his ragged breathing and the ringing in his ears drowning out the night-time sounds of the forest. He scanned the area with a frantic gaze, but saw only blackness and the vague shapes of plants and what could have been the odd rock or two around him.

Cory struggled to his feet, light-headed and unsteady at first. He waited for his head to clear before donning his backpack once again, and wondered if he should stay where he was or try to find a pathway through the woods. 

At least I’m safe from that fucker now, he thought.

He checked his surroundings again, wondering if there was anything he could shelter under if he had to stay there for the night, and froze when a glint of reddish eye-shine blazed in the dark ahead of him.

At his side, a guttural growl, too deep and loud to be from a coyote, echoed through the forest.

Trying to keep himself from trembling, Cory began to take slow steps away from the eyes and the sound, struggling not to breaking into a run. These things – and there were at least two of them – would chase down and attack him if he ran. If he stayed calm, perhaps he’d make it back to the road if he kept going in the other direction.

With every step he took, Cory looked back over his shoulder and hoped like hell that the creatures weren’t following. His heart plummeted as he saw two sets of fiery eyes on either side of him, too high off the ground for them to belong to coyotes. There were no wolves in that part of the country, so these were either feral dogs or Cory had unwittingly stumbled onto someone’s private property and their guard dogs were now stalking him. 

Whatever they were, Cory prayed they wouldn’t lunge for him and that soon he’d find the road.

Another growl sounded to the right of Cory, and he gritted his teeth to keep from screaming. He wondered if the creatures could smell his fear.

Don’t run, he kept telling himself. Just keep going, real slow, and don’t let those things know you’re scared!

Cory tried to walk backwards as the dogs kept pace with his every footstep, and collided with something cold and metallic that rattled as he backed into it. Without stopping to think, he turned and started climbing the high wire fence, thankful to see bright lights on the other side. 

As he reached the top of the fence, Cory threw his pack over the other side before starting to descend. He breathed a sigh of relief as soon as his feet touched the ground, and started to walk in the direction of the lights.

Then he heard the fence begin to shake, and he froze.

Hands, not paws, gripped the wires as the two dog-things began to scale the fence after Cory. Vicious claws scraped against the metal as the drooling creatures bared their razor-sharp teeth, and their manlike torsos rippled with rock-hard muscle. They leaped down from the fence and an all too human glint of mockery shone in their eyes as they advanced on Cory, fully nine feet tall on their hind legs and reaching for him before he could even scream. 

Cory’s legs gave out, and he collapsed upon the ground. He could smell the beasts’ rancid breath as they leaned over him, one fearsome claw slicing with deliberate slowness through the fabric of Cory’s T-shirt.

Then the sound of gunfire echoed through the air, and the dogs pulled back as if in fright.

Shouts were coming from the distance, and a louder voice was booming close behind where Cory lay. A female voice, he thought, although the sound of it was deeper and more resonant than any woman he’d ever heard.

“Get back! My father told you not to come up here! You touch one hair on this boy’s head and I swear I’ll skin you both alive!”

Cory felt himself being picked up in the air and slung over the woman’s shoulder. He could not get a clear look at her, but she had flowing reddish hair and must have stood well over six feet in height. Displaying superhuman strength, the woman balanced Cory with one hand and gripped her shotgun with the other, walking in the direction of the lights. A babel of voices rose up around Cory from the darkness, and he felt his consciousness begin to slip away.

\-----------------------

He woke in a small narrow bed with a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, its glow harsh and making him squeeze his eyes shut. The voices he had heard outside still echoed, this time murmuring as one.

A huge hand, gentle in its touch but conveying an even greater strength than that of Cory’s rescuer, rested on Cory’s throbbing forehead and he began to hear the words of the Lord’s Prayer from the people who must have stood not far from Cory’s bedside. The hand moved to stroke Cory’s tousled hair, its fingers carding through the strands with loving reverence, and the man’s voice rose above the others which soon fell silent, merely whispering but with a rumbling resonance that did not sound entirely human.

“The Lord has fulfilled His promise and sent a pure soul to us, clothed in mortal flesh for us to guide and succour. The Earth has yielded up Her finest gift, a heart of innocence to welcome to the fold. May we be worthy, O God our Father, to set him on the path towards salvation. May we be worthy, O Earth our Mother, to show to him a family’s love and teach to him the ways of righteousness.”

Cory hardly dared to breathe as the other voices answered in unison with an Amen, curling his fists beneath the sheets and hoping the man thought he was asleep. There was only one person in the whole world that this guy could be, and that was Waylon Creed.

A literal giant of a man, the stories said. A monster, like those creatures who had tried to kill and eat him.

“Don’t go playing in the forest,” Cory’s mother had told him when he was just a little kid. “Up near the swamp, that’s where the Creed Family lives, and they are all insane. Especially their leader, Waylon.”

Cultists, Cory thought as the chanting voices rose around him again, louder and louder. Wackos. How the fuck am I going to get out of here?

When he did finally fall asleep, his slumbers were light and fitful and the sounds of murmured praying were still echoing in his brain. An almost electric thrill coursed through his body at the memory of the unseen giant’s hand smoothing down his hair. Although he must have imagined it, he sensed somebody watching over him and his mind conjured up the image of a hulking figure, obscured by shadows, seated at his bedside.

Sunlight touching on Cory’s eyelids woke him up, just before the clang of a bell began to sound and he heard many footsteps moving past his door. He got out of bed, realized he was only clad in briefs, and looked around the tiny room for his clothes.

His wallet, his toothbrush and a small gold cross on a chain that his stepmother had given him lay on the nightstand, but his backpack, the clothes he’d stuffed into it and his phone were gone. Grimacing, Cory dressed hurriedly in the garments that had been left for him; a white collared shirt, long brown pants, brown socks and a pair of childish-looking white sneakers. Cory clasped the cross around his neck at the last minute because it somehow seemed the right thing to do. He joined the line of people heading down the corridor towards what turned out to be a dining hall.

Everyone was dressed the same; the men and boys wore clothes exactly like the ones Cory had on, while the women and girls were clad in white blouses and long brown skirts, and some of the women even sported old-fashioned looking bonnets. Only the kids had white sneakers like Cory’s; the men and women wore proper black leather boots or lace-up shoes.

The woman who had rescued Cory sat at the head of one table, and a younger woman with very similar looks sat in the seat next to her. Cory guessed that they must be Waylon Creed’s daughters. If they had a mother, she didn’t seem to be anywhere around, and there was also no sign of anyone who could be Waylon Creed. Perhaps the cult leader ate in his own quarters, Cory thought, and as soon as the older Creed sister finished saying grace, he turned his attention to his breakfast.

Bacon and eggs, fresh fruit and fresh-baked bread with creamy butter, pancakes with syrup and piping hot coffee… the Creeds may have been a bunch of creepy weirdos, but they certainly fed their people well! Cory hadn’t realized how hungry he had been until that very moment, and he ate two massive platefuls of food, trying to pace himself so that he wouldn’t look too gluttonous in the eyes of the Creeds, who would probably consider such behavior a sin.

Cory would need to get his strength back before he figured out a way to get out of the Creed compound and back on the road again, preferably during the daylight hours when those dog monsters weren’t likely to be around.

When breakfast was over, Cory rose to his feet with the others and tried to follow a group of men out the door, but the younger Creed sister stood beside him in a heartbeat, laying one hand upon his shoulder. Her touch was light, but Cory could feel the power in her hand’s weight and in her voice when she spoke to him.

“I’ll need you in the kitchen with me, baby boy, unless Constance or our daddy tells me otherwise. Go wash up, and then come back here to me.”

Nobody talks like that. She’s weird. They’re all fucking weird, Cory thought, but he just nodded and looked up at the woman – and up and up, it seemed, for she was much taller than Cory, and Cory wasn’t short.

A thousand questions were burning in his mind, but Cory could only managed to stutter out, “W-what’s your name?”

“Delilah. Now go on, child, get cleaned up and come back at once. There’s plenty of work to do – we’ll have no idle hands in this place.”

Cory whispered a brief thanks and nodded again, went and grabbed his toothbrush and found the washroom. There were no mirrors on the walls, and the toothpaste was some homemade goop that tasted like it had been made with baking soda. He pulled a face and tried to get himself looking as tidy as possible before returning to Delilah.

In the enormous compound kitchen, Cory was put to work peeling potatoes and shelling peas with a group of kids who seemed to be aged between eight and fourteen. Cory didn’t mind earning his keep for the time being, but he wondered why he was put to work with a bunch of little kids, and why these children weren’t in school. Maybe there was some sort of home-schooling in the cult; he made up his mind to ask Delilah more about this strange place later if he could catch a word with her.

The kids, at least, were talkative and friendly, even if Cory felt a bit put out about being relegated to their ranks. He actually managed to learn a little about this crazy place from their childish chatter. Although Waylon Creed was the spiritual leader of the cult and preached to them every night, he left the day to day running of the compound to his daughters. Delilah took care of everything indoors while her older sister Constance supervised the outside workers and “the Watch” – men and women whose job it was to guard the compound and occasionally venture into the outside world to do business on the cult’s behalf. Nobody who wasn’t part of the Watch ever left the compound at all, not even Waylon himself.

Cory didn’t manage to get a word with Delilah, who kept herself busy overseeing the adults who were cooking, and didn’t stop what she was doing except to pass a couple of apple slices to the only child who wasn’t working, a little girl of about three or four who was playing with some wooden blocks on a spread-out quilt in the corner. 

“My baby.” Delilah whispered, and bent to kiss the little head with its blue-black curls before going back to work. Cory stole a few glances at the girl, wondering why Delilah’s daughter looked nothing at all like her mother.

Most of the grown-ups working in the kitchen were women of various ages, but there was one skinny guy who came in and out now and again with baskets of more vegetables or what appeared to be boxes of raw chicken. Each time he would look in Cory’s direction and grin, thin lips drawn back from yellow teeth and eyes glinting with cold malice blended with a sick desire. It was the same way Cory’s stepfather had looked at him, and Cory bent his head down at once over the bowl of peas, hoping and praying that the man would not approach him.

“Who’s that man?” he asked Agnes, the oldest girl at the table, after the man appeared to have left for the last time that morning.

“That’s Arlo, Waylon’s half-brother. Don’t pay him no mind – nobody does.” 

Weirder and weirder, Cory thought. Shouldn’t a cult leader’s brother be regarded with a bit more respect by a group of children, even if he was creepy as fuck?

Best not to think too much, just bide your time till you can find a way out of this place, Cory’s instincts told him as he nodded his thanks to the girl and got back to work.

The rest of the day was uneventful, with more kitchen work between meals that were even more sumptuous than breakfast had been. If the Creed compound hadn’t been such a nuthouse, Cory might have been tempted to stay there for the food alone. Back home, he’d mostly had to make his own meals or scrounge up whatever money he could find for junk food he could go off and eat outside, as neither his mom nor his stepdad could cook for shit.

After dinner, another bell began to sound and all the people started to buzz with excitement, filing from the dining hall towards a large building a short distance away. Cory followed them, wondering yet again what was going to happen.

“It’s meeting time,” Cory heard Delilah saying as she passed him. “Go sit down with the other children, baby boy, and just do as they do.”

The building was filled with rows and rows of chairs; the adults sat on these while the children moved to sit on quilts laid out for them on the floor in front, just like the quilt Delilah’s little daughter Pearl had played on in the kitchen. 

Fuck this, Cory thought, and was about to move to one of the empty chairs instead when the lights went out and the whole room was plunged into pitch darkness.

A baby began to wail in its mother’s arms somewhere near the back wall, but otherwise there was dead silence. Cory’s legs buckled under him, and he collapsed upon a quilt just as a line of lanterns sparked into brightness along the front wall and a towering figure stood before the hushed crowd, his long red hair and beard taking on a preternatural glow in the half-light.

Waylon Creed was indeed a giant, just as the whispered tales from Cory’s childhood had described him.

He stood seven feet tall at least, perhaps even more. His clothes were just the same as the other men’s, except for the broad-brimmed black hat upon his head, and his white shirt seemed ready to burst at the seams from the width of his shoulders and the bulging muscles of his chest and arms. A shudder ran through Cory as Waylon Creed got down upon his knees before the seated children, and the penetrating gaze of a pair of hazel eyes held Cory in its thrall.

Waylon held out his hands, palms upwards as if raising them to heaven, and the same low rumbling voice Cory had heard the night before, chilling in its dark, unearthly beauty, rang out through the hall.

“Sing now! Sing to me, my angels!”

And as one, the children began to sing.

_“He’s got the whole world in His hands  
He’s got the whole world in His hands  
He’s got the whole world in His hands  
He’s got the whole world in His hands…”_

It should have been ridiculous, like the Bible camp Cory’s dad and stepmom had sent him to last time he’d lived with them, when he was twelve. Back then, when the campers had sung this very song together, he’d rolled his eyes and thought it was all bullshit. He’d barely been able to stifle his laughter as he secretly made eye contact with some of the other kids sitting near him, the so-called “bad” kids who he’d later meet out in the dark behind the cabins. They and he would puff on smuggled-in cigarettes by moonlight and sneer about how dumb the adults were to believe in a God who probably didn’t even exist, and if He did, He didn’t give a shit about any of them.

But as Cory sat there staring at those burning eyes and mighty hands, he joined the other kids in song, somehow unable to stay silent. Little Pearl scooted over and snuggled close to Cory, her small head resting against his arm, and a slow smile lit up Waylon’s face as he too sang with the children.

Silence fell as the song came to an end; the children sitting around Cory bowed their heads, but Cory’s gaze remained locked with Waylon’s as the cult leader began to speak, one massive finger now pointing straight at Cory.

“Gifts of God and Mother Earth you are, all of you, my precious babies. All that I have built here is for you, my sweet innocent little lambs, who never have known, and never will know, the sinful ways of the outside world. Out there lies only pain, and in here, the path towards salvation is revealed to us. Deliver us from evil, the people cried to me, and I delivered them.”

Waylon paused for breath, and Cory’s heart began to pound as if he had been running.

“But once there was a lamb who strayed from the flock. She strayed from her loving shepherd and from the only home she’d ever known. She, who could have stood beside me as the spiritual mother of you all, she who I offered not only the hand of a guide and leader, but the raw and bleeding beating heart of a man – she scorned all I gave her and she strayed. Falling into the wicked ways of the outside world, falling into the arms of one no-good man after another.”

Waylon’s fingertip was touching Cory’s forehead now, brushing one soft wisp of hair aside, and Cory stiffened, his mouth dry as he struggled to stave off the dizziness that almost overcame him,

“She is lost to us, her body broken and her mind confused by the madness of her own creation. But for every sheep that strays into the darkness, another lamb will find his way back home. For every fallen spirit, a purer one will find his way to Paradise. Her son, her only child, was destined from the start to live among us. The purest soul, the most precious little lamb of all, is with us now where he belongs.”

Cory didn’t move a muscle, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. Now at last he realized why his mom knew so much about the Creeds.

Waylon placed a soft kiss on the top of Cory’s head, and then the lantern lights went out, leaving the room completely black as the children began to sing again.

Cory didn’t know how he made it back to his little room. He shivered under the blankets, although the night air was almost stifling in its warmth, and squeezed his eyes shut tight, not wanting to see or think a single thing.

Heat rose around Cory as black storm-clouds rumbled high up in the sky. He opened his eyes to find himself standing in the forest clearing once again, and fiery eyes glaring from the brush at him.

A dissonant howl came from the darkness of the woods, and menacing growls sounded on either side of him, so loud that they were almost roars. Cory turned and fled, both sets of eyes keeping pace with him as he crashed through the brush. He stumbled over a sprawling tree-root and hit the ground hard, and lay there helplessly, unable to move as stinking dog-breath assailed his nostrils. Spatters of putrid-smelling drool fell upon his face and throat, and harsh barks resembling mocking laughter echoed all around him. Rubbery lips pulled back from pointed yellow teeth before the dogmen lunged for him…

Cory thrashed and screamed until he sensed that he was not alone. Brawny arms were cradling him against a broad chest, and he heard a deep voice crooning soft, soothing words into his ear. He sobbed and trembled, not looking up until he heard his name whispered and warm lips were pressed against his temple in the lightest, sweetest kiss he’d ever felt.

“You’re safe now, angel-boy. I’ll always be here to watch over you.”

Breathing slower now, Cory blinked and looked up into the hazel eyes, filled with loving kindness and something more that he couldn’t quite define, that gazed down at him. 

“We knew who you were from the moment we first saw you, angel – same golden hair, same baby-blue eyes as our Luanne. She was a wicked, wicked girl to leave her family, for we loved her more than our own lives, every one of us. But you came back to the flock where you belong, Cory. You’re home, and we will make sure that you won’t forget and stray back to the hell that is outside.”

Cory stiffened to hear the strange sound of his mother’s name on this man’s lips, but leaned into the caresses of those huge hands before relaxing a little.

“Mr. Creed,” he began, but was silenced by another kiss, this time on his cheek, and a gentle but admonishing finger laid against his lips.

“Waylon. We’re all one big family here, so we use only Christian names.” 

Cory felt so weak that he rested his head against Waylon’s chest, and somehow knew that this act had made the man smile down at him.

“Waylon – what are those – those things?”

“The dogs, you mean?” Waylon’s voice was calm and steady, as if he had known all along what Cory was going to ask him. He rocked Cory against him, holding him so firmly so that Cory couldn’t squirm out of his grasp, but with a gentleness that made Cory not want to pull away. He felt somehow safe in Waylon’s arms, even though this giant of a man had more than enough physical power to literally tear him apart.

Cory nodded, and Waylon tilted the boy’s chin up with one finger so that they were eye to eye once more.

“Sometimes when you’re doing the Father and Mother’s work, you might have to put your feelings aside and make a deal with the Devil. Those brutes have only evil in their hearts, but they keep my lambs from wandering and keep the vicious wolves from the world beyond our home off our land. All I have to do is throw them something sweet to eat now and then – but not too sweet.”

Waylon touched his finger to Cory’s lips again, and his eyes gleamed with an eerie light from within that should have made Cory shiver in fear. But the warmth and strength of Waylon’s arms around him somehow quelled his terror, and already his nightmare was like a distant memory.

“The dogs obey me because they fear the forest giants – the hairy folk – and those who carry their blood,” Waylon whispered, the unexpected words making Cory sit up straight and stare at him.

“You mean, you’re…”

“Oh yes,” Waylon said, chuckling a little and tightening his arms around Cory a bit more. “Most of the time, the hairy folk stay deep in the woods and keep to themselves; they’ll leave you alone unless you go out there looking to bother them. But sometimes, you get one or two who’ll take a liking to the furless ones, as they call regular folks. Like my daddy. Like my daughters’ mama.”

One massive hand reached to cup Cory’s cheek, and Waylon’s eyes were now filled with a hint of more intense affection.

“Luanne had such a pretty little mouth, but there was always something sharp about the way her kisses tasted. A hint of something dark and bitter… foreshadowing betrayal to come, perhaps. You look so much like her, Cory, but I can tell you’re pure of heart and in your soul there’s only innocence and sweetness.”

Waylon leaned in closer, and Cory held his breath.

“Would your kisses be all sweetness too, my angel-boy? If I craved it, would you let me have a taste?”

Then Waylon’s lips were on his own, delicate and light, before Cory could even think or say a word. Cory’s heart was pounding so loud he was sure Waylon could hear it, and his whole body seemed to burn with an almost fevered heat. 

“Praise the Lord, you’re sweet as honey,” Waylon gasped as he pulled away, and Cory let himself go limp in Waylon’s arms. With his head bowed and his eyes now tightly closed, Cory willed sleep to come so that he would not have to acknowledge all the thoughts and feelings swirling through his brain.

\-----------------------

When daylight came and breakfast was over and done with, it was Constance who came to fetch him instead of Delilah.

“You’re to work outside today, child – we need you in the gardens,” she told him, and Cory nodded, eager to get going and put a little distance between himself and this woman, who unnerved him more than he would ever admit to anyone. Her eyes were fiercer than her sister’s, and the set of her jaw and the breadth of her shoulders kept bringing Waylon’s words of the night before back into his mind.

As Cory walked towards the gardens, he looked towards the compound’s fences, scanning for any possible ways he might get out of there and away from the Creeds with their weird clothes and their weird speech. Back to something like a normal life. But every entrance and exit was guarded by a heavily armed member of the Watch. The only part of the land the Creed clan had carved out for themselves in the backwoods that was not blocked off or guarded was a stretch of very dense forest to the south, most likely leading to the swamplands. Nobody ever seemed to go that way, although he’d heard from the kids in the kitchen that Waylon and his daughters sometimes went into those woods. Cory shuddered at the thought of what might be lurking out there in the wilderness.

Cory kept himself very busy in the gardens, relishing the chance to be outside in the bright sunshine, picking vegetables and pulling up weeds. He was in the company of kids nearer his own age, and even a few adults. As the insects buzzed in the air and he heard the sounds of livestock in their pens a short distance away, and smelled the delicious aroma of baking bread from the kitchen, Cory threw himself into the work so that he wouldn’t have to keep thinking about what had gone on the previous night.

Waylon Creed was crazy. He had to be, telling stories of devils and monsters and claiming to be half Sasquatch, which from anyone else would be beyond preposterous. He had been in love with Cory’s mom, grooming her to be his wife until she’d somehow fled his clutches. And that kiss… it was the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him. It should have made him feel sick to his stomach, like Arlo’s meanly lecherous gaze had done, but it didn’t.

In fact, Cory had sort of liked it.

It was only a chaste little peck, with not a trace of lewdness, yet it had stirred so many emotions up in him, none of which was repulsion. Waylon had not had a hard-on when he’d pulled Cory into his lap, but the passion in his voice was unmistakable. Cory shivered, remembering the almost reverent touch of Waylon’s lips and the strange sense of safety he’d felt in Waylon’s arms. As if he belonged there. As if he was a treasure to be held and sheltered by those mighty hands.

The whole world in His hands, Cory thought, and soon he found himself humming, and then singing the song out loud. Around him, the other kids took up the tune as they kept working.

“Now you’re getting it, boy-child.”

Cory hadn’t even heard the footsteps of Constance Creed as she approached, but her words reverberated in his chest and the hairs rose at the back of his neck when an amused half-smile flitted briefly across her face.

Days passed, maybe even weeks or months, for Cory found it hard to keep track of time in the compound. It was as if the world outside did not exist anymore. 

No one ever yelled at Cory or hit him. No one shoved him with a bruising thump against a wall or locker like they did at school. He got up every morning, dressed and ate, and went to his work in the gardens. It was as if this bizarre place was slowly turning into the home Cory never truly had, and he wondered if anyone outside was still looking for him.

He’d had no more nightmares since the night when Waylon kissed him, but a faint hint of menace still lingered in the air when the sun went down, only dissipating when his eyes began to close and he heard the creak of a chair as if a massive form was seated at his bedside.

Sometimes Cory would look up from his work and see Constance looking his way with her narrowed eyes and twisted smile, or members of the Watch coming into the compound, accompanied by people dressed in ordinary street clothes who looked unkempt and stressed. Later Cory would see the children the Watch brought in being herded off to the kitchen or the gardens, or an unfamiliar baby or toddler cradled in the arms of one of the compound’s adults. He never saw any of the adults who were brought in again.

“Pay them no mind, little one,” Constance would warn him as she passed, light enough on her feet for Cory not to hear her coming. And mostly Cory didn’t, although he should have worried for those strangers and himself. But fear and desire kept his thoughts confused and clouded.

Fear of Constance, for it almost seemed as if she could read his mind when she appeared out of nowhere. Desire for evening and meeting time, when mighty Waylon would stand before him once again.

Cory’s heart always seemed ready to leap out of his chest when Waylon raised his hands for the little ones to sing. And Cory sang too, wanting his voice to be purer and stronger than the rest. His eyes would finally lock with Waylon’s, and then those glorious lips would press against his forehead as Waylon showered blessings down upon him. 

“Praise God and Mother Earth, my angel. Precious lamb, you were lost and now you’re found, back in my flock where you belong. Back in my forgiving heart, which once was torn and broken but now is whole again. Hallelujah!”

Cory’s throat felt tight and his head throbbed, dizzy from the sudden rapture brought on by the piercing stare of those hazel eyes and the feather-light but powerful touch of those lips and hands.

And now when he went outside each day, Cory’s eyes began to scan the compound for a place that could be Waylon’s private residence instead of looking for a possible way to escape.

\-----------------------

One afternoon, Cory was on his knees by a small patch of newly-turned earth, pulling up a few remaining weeds from where seeds would soon be planted. It was the hottest day yet and Cory had unbuttoned his shirt and let it hang loosely open, ready to pull its edges tightly together at any moment if an adult should notice this and disapprove.

But as he looked around to see if Constance or any of the other grown-ups were nearby, he realized that he was utterly alone. All the people working in the gardens had left and gone inside as if compelled to do so by some silent, unseen signal. 

A dark shadow fell upon him, and a familiar deep and rumbling voice sent shivers up and down Cory’s spine.

“They call that dirt, the faithless unbelievers outside our little paradise. But nothing’s dirty about the soil, my angel. That there is sacred, the flesh and blood of Mother Earth. It’s She who nourishes our bodies, and to Her our bodies will return when our souls ascend to God in Heaven.”

Waylon was kneeling in front of Cory now, his eyes moving down over the boy’s face and the exposed skin beneath his unbuttoned shirt. With a rapt expression on his face, he laid one fingertip on Cory’s cheekbone and traced the shape of it with reverence. Cory found it hard to breathe when he felt that touch and saw that Waylon was bare-chested, his arms and shoulders lightly covered in sweat from the day’s heat. Cory longed to run his fingers through the thick red hair, almost like fur, that covered this gigantic man’s upper body. Instead, he tried to stop himself from trembling as Waylon spoke again.

“It’s from the Earth that our desires and all pleasures of the flesh come, precious lamb. The lost souls outside our world, they get it wrong about the flesh and spirit, going to extremes to pamper one and neglect the other, whether it be with self-indulgence or with self-denial. We need both body and soul to thrive, and I can tell just from looking in your eyes that both parts of you have been starving far too long.”

Waylon’s hand was now cupping Cory’s face, and Cory thought for a moment that Waylon would lean forward and kiss him. But Waylon’s fingers moved to softly card through the strands of Cory’s hair, grown to collar-length in the time that he had been with the Creed clan.

“So much passion in you,” Waylon whispered. “So much love to give. And yet you’ve never learned to give it because you’ve never had anyone love you like you should be loved. I can see how much you’re hurting. You need somebody who will love you as you are now, for the child you were, and for the man you will become. And it's a man's touch you're craving - I sense it.”

Waylon’s huge hands grabbed hold of Cory’s, interlacing the boy’s fingers with his own.

“Pray with me, Cory,” Waylon said, a note of urgency now in his voice. Cory nodded and bowed his head, lowering his eyelids as the words of the prayer rose around them like the warmth of the afternoon.

“Heavenly Father and beloved Mother Earth, I beseech You to guide Your humble servant to do Your will. Let me show Your most precious child, this purest of souls, the path of righteousness. Let him open to me, Father and Mother of us all, so that he may know the sweetness of Your eternal love. Let him turn away from the sinful, hateful world out there and towards the family that welcomes him with open arms. Bless us, Father and Mother, and in Your Holy Names, Amen.”

“Amen,” Cory echoed, the word a faint whisper in the still and heated air. His head spun and it felt as if his thumping heart was clasped in the mighty hands that held his own, and before he could stop himself he lifted one of those hands up to his lips and placed a small, soft kiss upon the palm.

Waylon’s breath hitched and his eyes went wide, but he didn’t pull away as Cory grew bolder and rained down more kisses on both of those huge hands, allowing his lips to part and his tongue to slide along one long, thick finger, then two.

Cory’s cock was so hard it hurt, and he could see now that Waylon was aroused too. Waylon’s hardness was so massive that Cory could not even guess the size of it, and it was straining against the tight cloth of Waylon’s pants. Cory uttered a soft little moan as he took as much of Waylon’s fingers into his mouth as he could, aching to take them deep into his throat.

All he wanted to do was worship those hands, to pleasure Waylon with his eager lips and tongue, for those hands held his entire world.

“Oh God, yes - so beautiful!" Waylon gasped as Cory’s mouth caressed him, his breath harsh and fast and his thighs spread wide apart, letting Cory do whatever he desired. Cory’s own slim fingers tightened on Waylon’s wrist, urging Waylon to thrust his fingers deeper. 

I don’t care if I fucking choke, Cory thought. I want this. I want all of him.

Cory’s mouth was hot and stretched wide open; he fought the urge to gag with all his might, and he was so breathless he was close to passing out. But he wasn’t going to stop now. He wanted to make Waylon come like this; the giant was at his mercy, and a thrill coursed through Cory’s blood at the power he now possessed.

He kept his mouth moving up and down the length of those fingers until he felt Waylon’s body tense and shudder, and heard Waylon’s voice moaning out his name.

That sound alone sent Cory over the edge. He struggled to get his breath back as he pulled his mouth off Waylon’s hand and collapsed against the giant’s thick-furred chest, tears welling up in his eyes as he came hard. He let himself go limp against Waylon’s damp, warm skin.

Waylon’s arms were around him in an instant, pulling Cory closer as the boy convulsed with ragged sobs, trying to release the pain he’d carried inside him for God only knew how long. 

“Sweet Lord above,” Waylon whispered. “You truly are an angel!”

They held each other, hearts beating in the same rhythm, until the sun began to sink in the sky and the dinner bell broke through the silence with its raucous clang.

\-----------------------

Cory made his way to the dining hall after cleaning up, alone now with his thoughts. A tiny hand slipped into his as he walked, and he looked down to see little Pearl beaming up at him.

“I’d better get you back to your mom, squirt,” Cory murmured, steering her through the door and looking around for Delilah, who soon fell into step behind them and gave Cory a knowing smile when she scooped up her child.

He was about to take his place at the table with the other children when a sense of being watched by hostile eyes assailed him. Nauseous all of a sudden, he turned to see the hateful, lustful eyes of Arlo fixed upon him, and backed away so fast he knocked his chair to the ground.

Then a bestial roar echoed through the compound, and Arlo’s body slammed against the furthest wall. Waylon gripped his half-brother by the collar of his shirt and lifted him high up against the doorframe, so that his feet were dangling. Women and children screamed, and men were shouting to the people still coming into the dining hall to stay back. Cory stood stock-still, caught unawares by how fast Waylon had moved, frozen with disbelief and terror as he saw the blazing rage in Waylon’s eyes.

Arlo’s face was turning purple at the tightness of a huge hand around his throat, and although Waylon’s words were whispered, Cory heard each one loud and clear amidst the chaos all around him.

“You keep your evil hands and mind to yourself, and stay the hell away from what belongs to me! Or I might just forget that you’re my brother next time the dogs need feeding!”

And Waylon was gone, leaving Arlo in a gagging and spluttering heap upon the floor.

Cory could hardly pick at dinner, almost sick with fear from the rage he’d witnessed, but a small surge of the power he had felt earlier crackled through his veins. All the blood rushed from his head to his hardened cock, and one thought, and one alone, was on his mind.

I’m his. And I want him to be mine.

Later, curled up under the covers in his bed, Cory slipped in and out of intermittent dreams that made his eyeballs ache.

A man and a woman, clad in outsider clothes, ran screaming for the compound’s fence and Cory stood rooted to the spot, unable to call out to them and warn them of the hell that lay beyond it, the razor teeth and slavering jaws waiting to tear into human flesh.

Sweet, but not too sweet…

Behind him was the unfenced forest and the swamp; he turned that way to see a gleam of amber eye-shine eight or nine feet off the ground and figures too tall and wide to be human looming amongst the trees, their hair-covered bodies silhouetted by the risen moon.

A flicker of lantern light, its shine subdued by the hulking shapes of the forest giants, beckoned Cory forward. He could hear the voices of the hairy ones, speaking in a language he had never heard before but somehow understood.

Claim him as he claimed you, they seemed to say. Walk through the fear and go to him.

Cory sat bolt upright in his bed; Waylon was not seated in the chair beside it, but the lantern from Cory’s dream sat there in his place, lit and waiting.

He struggled to dress himself, fumbling with the laces on his sneakers and almost dropping the lantern as he grasped its handle and raised it aloft.

Outside, the air was cooler than it had been in the daytime; the moon and stars were clearly visible and scattered specks of brightness across the midnight sky. Shadows seemed to reach for Cory, grabbing at him with gnarled black fingers, but drawing back at the pale glow of the lantern’s beam. Once or twice he saw a member of the Watch stationed near the fences, but they looked away from him and did not approach.

Cory headed where his dream had guided him, towards the unfenced area of the compound just before the forest. Up ahead of him he made out the shape of a small log cabin, simple and unassuming. He had never taken much notice of this house before, thinking that the leader of the Creed clan would reside someplace much grander.

Yet it was here his instincts were telling him to go, and here where a lantern’s flame sparked into life, answering his own light. No eyes reflected from the treeline as they had in his nightmarish vision, but he heard strange whistles and huffing sounds echoing through the darkness and sensed the unseen gaze of the hairy folk.

The cabin door was ajar; without knocking, Cory entered and put his lantern down with trembling hands. 

“You were meant for this, my angel. Meant for me. I'll make this good for you, I promise.”

Waylon was standing stark naked in the half-light, towering over Cory; the wildness of his flowing red-gold hair and beard made him seem more supernatural beast than mortal man. Cory felt those massive hands upon him, the hands that sent a pulse of pleasure all through his body with a single touch, and he arched into their caresses with a strangled moan. His clothes were stripped away as if they were mere wisps of nothing; then he was lifted into the giant’s powerful arms and Waylon’s lips were softly pressed to his.

It was Cory who deepened the kiss, his tongue-tip parting Waylon’s lips and his slim fingers tangling in the strands of Waylon’s hair. He wound his arms around Waylon’s neck and kissed him with ferocity, biting Waylon’s lips before thrusting his tongue deep and hard into Waylon’s mouth.

Waylon pulled back, his breathing harsh and his eyes gleaming in the lanterns’ eerie glow.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Waylon whispered, but Cory gave him another heated kiss and stared back into those hazel eyes with a passion that wouldn’t be denied.

“I want you to,” he choked out, trying and failing to stop his voice from quavering. “I want your strength – please, don’t hold back!”

His mouth claimed Waylon’s in yet another burning kiss, and Waylon kissed him back with bruising force until the copper taste of blood lingered on Cory’s tongue. He didn’t know if it was his blood or Waylon’s, and he didn’t care. Waylon’s arms tightened around him, carrying him over to the bed where Cory sat astride his lover’s lap and rubbed his swollen cock between their bodies. He whimpered when Waylon pushed them apart a little way so he could lick and suck on Cory’s nipples, first gently lapping at them before sinking his teeth into their softness and making Cory scream.

All that Cory had ached for his whole life, the love he’d thought he’d never find, was now his; he ran his fingertips through the dense curls of Waylon’s chest-hair and stroked every inch of rippling muscle he could reach. He could feel the rock-hard length of Waylon’s cock and although its sheer size and thickness was terrifying, he was more than willing when two huge fingers, slippery with something that felt creamy like hand lotion, pushed into his ass to stretch him wide.

Waylon was breathing hard again, and then his mighty hands gripped Cory by his hip-bones and lifted him up.

“Put your arms round my neck, like before,” he growled in Cory’s ear, nipping the delicate lobe as the head of his huge cock began to slide between Cory’s cheeks. “I’m going to hurt your sweet ass, just like you want. Let me in, my angel. Let this passion heal us both!”

Cory clung to Waylon, seeking the warmth of Waylon’s lips with another wild kiss to stifle his own cry of pain when Waylon thrust into him. He sobbed in agony, tears springing into his eyes, but the slick wet heat of Waylon’s mouth was soothing, and he loved the sensation of those strong hands on his hips, urging him to move on Waylon and keeping him securely held.

Cory rode Waylon’s thick shaft slowly at first, then faster and harder, whimpering as Waylon broke their kiss to suck on the soft flesh of his throat and then bite hard. Cory moaned Waylon’s name over and over, shaking with an ecstasy he’d never known before.

He had someone to belong to, and someone who belonged to him. And he didn’t care if Waylon was a monster, or insane. Cory loved him, he had been claimed, and he was home.

They came at the exact same moment, Waylon collapsing back upon the bed, spent and gasping, and Cory falling limp upon his beloved’s wide chest, nuzzling into the profusion of bushy hair upon it and seeking Waylon’s nipples to kiss and lick.

Breathing deeply, they rested in each other’s arms until arousal stirred them once again.

\-----------------------

When daylight came, Cory woke up with his head on Waylon’s chest and the mighty man’s muscular arms still holding him, close and loving. His whole body felt bruised and sore, but he enjoyed the sensation. A pulse of almost electric energy surged through Cory’s blood, as if Waylon had bestowed some of his power upon him.

He raised himself up a little, and placed a gentle kiss on his lover’s lips. Waylon, who had been so forceful and so passionate the night before, was calm and peaceful in his sleep; he was far more human in that moment than he had seemed when he made Cory his own. Even though Cory longed for more of the pleasures they had shared, he decided to let Waylon rest and get his strength back. 

With a reluctant sigh, Cory slipped out of the bed and dressed, gazing down with utter tenderness upon his beloved Waylon before he left the cabin. 

His heart was no longer filled with worship for a godlike figure, but with the love of man for man.

He had started to make his way back towards the dining hall for breakfast when he heard a female voice calling out his name.

“No need to get up so soon if you don’t want to – I’ll have plenty of food brought up here for the both of you, and we’ll get a proper celebration going for you two tonight,” Constance said, stepping out from the treeline to stand in front of him and holding a small bundle wrapped in a blue blanket. “And I hope you don’t mind, but I spoke to Delilah earlier, and she took the liberty of ordering you some boots. White children’s shoes don’t suit a married man.”

Cory nodded, a little taken aback at first that Constance was addressing him as an equal. No “little one” and no “boy-child”. It was strange, but it made Cory feel as if he’d grown a whole foot taller overnight. The vivid marks upon his neck throbbed, and he felt a thrill of pride.

“Thanks,” he managed to say at last. “Who’s this?” 

He indicated the baby boy Constance was cradling, and she smiled.

“My new son. It’s about time I took in a child, as my little sister’s already looking for a second one to raise. I just took him to the woods to meet my mama – who knows, you might get to see her later on tonight. She only comes up to the compound when it’s dark.”

The baby’s tiny hand curled around her massive finger, and she chuckled.

“I’m thinking of calling him Adam – do you think that’s a good name?”

“Yeah, I like it,” Cory replied, looking down at the infant and stroking his light blond hair. Blue eyes, strongly resembling his own, looked up at him and he felt a sense of hope and wonder, imagining what it would be like to raise children along with Waylon.

There were so many plans for the future he wanted to make, including getting in touch with his little sisters in the big city and finding a way to bring them to the compound, for they deserved a good forever home as much as he did, away from all the evils of the outside world.

Evil. The word brought something else to mind, and perhaps now was the best time to discuss it.

“Constance, I know that Arlo is your uncle. But the way he looks at kids – it’s not right at all. It makes me sick.”

“Just say the word and he’s gone.”

Constance’s smile was dark and twisted now, but the feral gleam in her eyes no longer made Cory afraid.

“Anyway,” Constance went on, bouncing Adam a bit, “I didn’t come up here just to tell you about new boots and show you my little boy. Earlier this morning, some worthless piece of outside trash drove up the back road to the compound, yelling and screaming that we had his stepson here and to give him back right away, or else he’d come back with other men and plenty of guns.”

Cory’s heart began to hammer, but he felt no fear, even though he knew the answer to his next question before he even asked it.

“Did he drive a lime green pickup truck?”

“He sure did. I was going to go and ask my dad what should be done with him. But maybe you’ve got more of a right to decide. Especially now.”

Cory’s eyes met with Constance’s in a conspiratorial gaze, and a smile just like hers began forming on his lips.

“I think the dogs need feeding, don’t you?” he asked, and he bent to place a gentle, protective kiss on Adam’s forehead.


End file.
